CHAPTER XI
SHAPING A NEW COURSE
SHAPING A NEW COURSE
SHAPING A NEW COURSE
The program planned for the next six days was a full one. It was complicated somewhat by the fact that Ned left for Chicago a day later and was gone from Saturday morning till Monday morning, making a stay in the western city of five hours. That this was not a business trip was indicated by the fact that he did not visit the local office of the Universal Transportation Company. Mr. Napier and Mary Hope rode to the depot with Ned when he boarded the Sunday afternoon Limited. His last words to them were: “All right, I promise. We can’t possibly put this thing off. But when we get back I bring Alan home and we’ll all take a good long vacation and go somewhere—not in an airship.”
TheHeraldeditor examined theOcean FlyerThursday, June 15. When he left in the motor car that evening, he took Buck Stewart with him, the arrangement being that the latter was to return the next morning and from that time do all he could to help the busy young men. One specificduty was to stand guard over the new airship as an additional precaution against unexpected and undesired publicity.
Thursday evening, much to Buck’s regret, Ned and Alan made a late-hour experimental flight, the company calculator having arrived. While the Airship Boys, assisted by Roy Osborne, who was now formally booked as a member of the crew, made speedy flights in all directions, even venturing out to sea again for a short distance, the engineer was busy in the “weather” tower of the plant. This important part of the works was a fifty foot tower rising from a flat-roofed corner of the setting-up room. Instruments in the tower automatically recorded wind direction, duration and force. From the roof below, kite experiments were also frequently in progress. From these, important meteorological tables were made. Small captive balloons might also be seen anchored from this roof at nearly all hours. On several occasions, the kites had been sent up 19,000 feet by use of metal cables and power-driven drums. The engineer’s work in the night tests was to elevate small balloons to the level of the Flyer in flight and get exact data on the wind pressure. From this and the anemometer variations recorded on the flying aeroplane, it was possible to estimate the actual advance of the airship under all aerometer readings.
Thursday night, Alan acted as engineer. Roy Osborne took the observer’s post and Bob was in charge of the wireless. This was located in the after part of the store room on the lower deck. The antennae of the outfit followed the cables bracing the wing planes. But these, it was decided, were to be altered and rigged on masts erected on the top deck and tail truss.
The Airship Boys had been living in a private hotel. Before retiring that night, future accommodations had also been provided for Buck. When Ned awoke the next morning, a fuller significance of what had happened in the previous twenty-four hours seemed to present itself to the boy. He threw open the door of Alan’s adjoining room.
He began by announcing that he meant to go to Chicago the next day and would be gone over Sunday. There was a time when Alan would have answered this statement with some facetious inquiry about his sister Mary. But that time had passed. “Got anything else on your mind?” was his only reply.
“Several things,” responded Ned. “We haven’t told theHeraldyet about the London supply of gasoline and ether.”
“It’s ‘petrol’ over there,” explained Alan. “Don’t you reckon they’ve plenty of each?”
“Sure,” answered Ned a little contemptuously. “But we’re goin’ to be there less than an hour. We ain’t goin’ to have time to go out shoppin’ for our fuel. And how are you goin’ to take over half a ton of ‘petrol’ on board? In quart cups? There must be a good supply of it and there must be some sort of hose and pump.”
“That’ll have to be arranged for by cable.”
“And don’t forget this,” went on Ned. “You can’t count on finding dehydrated sulphuric ether for sale like peanuts.”
“They don’t sell peanuts in London,” suggested Alan soberly.
“And they don’t generally sell this kind of ether,” answered Ned. “This is one of the things on my mind. This ether must be specially made and it should have been ordered by cable yesterday.”
“Righto,” answered Alan, who seemed in a specially good humor. “Why don’t we take on some gasoline at St. Johns?” he added. “We can stop there.”
“Because we won’t need it,” explained his chum. “And we ain’t goin’ to load up with anything we don’t need. I’ll run into town and seetheHeraldabout these supplies. When Stewart comes out you can tell him he’s in charge of the larder. And I wish we could get that new sailing chart at once. The lieutenant ought to go to the office and work on it in the afternoon. He can come over here in the evening for the pressure tests.”
Plans for certain alterations in the ether tanks having been talked over while at breakfast, it was decided that Ned should go to New York on an early train and have a personal conference with their journalist patron while Alan and Bob went to the aeroplane factory and started the work on the airship. While waiting for the editor to reach his office Ned did some shopping in the clothing line, and at a sporting goods outfitter, laid in special outdoor underwear, felt boots, wool jackets, fingered mittens and heavy caps for five persons. He also made a note of what the returningHeraldmen would need, to be given to the editor to be included in his many other cabled instructions.
“It’s a pity,” said the editor a little later when Ned met him, “that we did not get together a few days earlier. We should have sent a man across on the steamer with full instructions. However, we have five days and our own cable. Don’t hesitate to tell me all you need.”
Ned carefully went over every preparatory detail, made memoranda of the supplies needed, described the grade of gasoline and sort of ether needed, and drew up suggestions how these articles were to be delivered to theFlyerin Hyde Park. There were also instructions to the men as to typewriters, what facilities could be expected aboard, the kind of clothing needed, the absolute necessity for promptness in reporting for embarkation and a list of food supplies for the return trip. Then the editor and Ned reviewed the plans for shipping theTelegrammatrices in New York bay.
Close figuring showed that, while it was a fraction under ten miles from the Aeroplane Company’s yards in Newark to the point off the old Battery in East River, where the sea tug would be waiting, it would be advisable to allow the newspaper operators at least twenty minutes for transporting the forms to the Ship News wharf and to start theFlyeron signal about ten minutes before the expiration of this period. This meant that the double set of matrices would leave theHeraldoffice on a fast motor at two o’clock; that theFlyerwould leave Newark about two ten and, advancing under slow speed, pass over the waiting tug at two twenty.
“If everything is ready and the packages are in position when we approach,” suggested Ned, “show a white flag. If there is delay, show a red flag. Then we will veer off and return when the white flag is shown.”
“And the return?” asked the editor. “Getting away seems simple enough and landing in Hyde Park, London, ought not be difficult, barring police interference, which I hope to prevent through influence, but what can we do to help you at this end on your return trip?”
“We’re going to try to deliver the copy and pictures right at your door,” laughed Ned, “to-wit, on the roof of theHeraldbuilding. It isn’t going to be so difficult to pick up New York at night although we may be flying pretty high. The coast lights will be our guides until we are in sight of the glare of the city. Then we’re going to take a chance and drop right down over it. We’ll keep to the north and avoid the sky scrapers. Fortunately, theHeraldvicinity is pretty free of tall buildings. All you can do is to show us our signal: a green diamond. Rig up four search lights on the roof and let the lights point upward from midnight till we get there. And keep the roof clear when you see our lights. I’m hopin’ to drop your copy and picture bags between one and two o’clock.”
The editor was aglow with enthusiasm.
“And the men?” he asked.
“Our signal will be showing at the Newark works and a motor will be waiting there. Your men may be with you an hour later. And keep your wireless man on duty. We may be calling at any time after we are within two or three hours of the coast.”
After nearly two hours of close conference Ned and his patron adjourned for luncheon, at which another phase of the coming experiment was discussed:
“Do you think the perils of the voyage will upset our men?” asked the editor.
“They might,” answered Ned, “if the machine was the fragile aeroplane commonly in use. But I’ll see that the men have no excuse for getting panic stricken. Before we start, I’ll put them in their staterooms and lock the doors. They’ll hardly know when we get away. They’ll know nothing as to our height or speed. All they’ll have to do is to pound on their stories, eat when they’re hungry, and sleep when they get tired.”
“Are you going to lock young Stewart in a room?” inquired theHeraldmanager.
“Not him,” chuckled Ned. “He ain’t that kind. He’s been promoted already to the position of chef. Don’t worry about that boy. I wouldn’t be surprised if he turned out an able ‘birdman’ before we get away.”
As Ned was to leave the next morning for Chicago, not to return until Monday morning (theFlyerwas to sail Wednesday, June 21, at 2:10 P. M.,) he took a taxicab to the New York-Chicago office after leaving the editor. It was his intention to have a look at his mail, a talk with Major Honeywell, and then catch the three o’clock train for Newark to see how Alan and Bob were progressing with the alterations. To his surprise he found the engineer in his office. He had followed Alan’s suggestion at once and reached New York some time before noon.
“I thought I’d make your new chart to-day,” he explained, “so that you could see it before you leave for Chicago.” The lieutenant’s big flat drafting table was covered with United States hydrographic Atlantic Coast charts and English Admiralty maps of the Irish and English sea lines and harbors. The officer himself was at another table busy with logarithms, trigonometry and almanacs of latitude and longitude.
“Fine,” exclaimed Ned, to whom such details were always fascinating. “What have you found?” In another instant he had thrown off his coat and was perched on a corner of the lieutenant’s desk.
“I’ve found something that may surprise you,” answered the engineer laying down his pencil. “The continuation of the other St. Johns, Newfoundland and Fastnet Light, Ireland, course won’t do at all. A great circle course from New York is going to take you miles north of St. Johns. And it’ll pass far to the north’ard of Fastnet Light.”
“Is that so?” responded Ned, not a little amazed. “What’s the distance?”
“Something over 3,200 miles.”
“Good,” exclaimed Ned. “That’s fine. Much over?”
“Exactly three thousand two hundred and eighteen and one-tenth miles. And that beats a steamer course about two hundred miles. It figures eleven hundred and sixty miles from New York to where you leave the American shore line and it’s two thousand and fifty-eight and one-tenth miles from that point to the center of London, three thousand two hundred and eighteen and one-tenth miles of traveling.”
“Better and better,” exclaimed Ned.
“And now I’ll really surprise you, I think,” went on the engineer, resuming his pencil. “In all of that first eleven hundred and sixty miles you’ll hardly be out of sight of land. You’ll have capes, islands, buoys and lights as steering points nearly all the time.” Ned’s eyes opened and the engineer arose and led him to a big, great-circle chart of the Atlantic ocean. “I suppose,” continued the calculator, “that you think, after leaving New York harbor, you’ll pass out to sea at once.”
“Of course,” exclaimed Ned. “Where else could we go?”
“You’ll go east on Long Island sound to S. Norwalk, Connecticut. Then, you’ll start over the land, cross Connecticut a little south of Hartford, pass over Massachusetts ten miles north of Boston and come to water again off Ipswich, Massachusetts, near Cape Ann. From that point you’ll begin to take a calculated course, shaped from Thatcher Island lights, and steer over the Gulf of Maine N. 65-1/2° E. till you raise Matinicus Island. There you’ll veer to E. N. E. 1/4 E. till you’re over Grand Manan in the mouth of the Bay of Fundy. Sailing ahead E. by N. you’ll pass up the north arm of Fundy to the town of Amherst in Nova Scotia. A new course E. 1/2 N. will take you across Northumberland Straits and Prince Edward Island to Cape Anguille in west Newfoundland, and then to the east coast at Fogo Island.”
“What’s that?” asked the interested Ned.
“Only a name,” was the engineer’s answer. “But it ought to be better known for it is the exact place where a direct line from New York City to London cuts across the easternmost sea line of our part of the world.”
“And then?” continued his rapt listener.
“Fogo Island is 50° 5´ west longitude and 49° 43´ north latitude. With an initial true course from this point of E. 1/4 S. you’ll hit one of the Arran Islands in Galway Harbor, west coast of Ireland. In these short courses across the states, the Gulf of Maine, Nova Scotia and Newfoundland, a true course is exact enough considering your land and sea marks—you’ll pass over islands and light houses every few miles. But, when you leave Fogo it is another story. By night I’ll have you a plotted chart of your ocean leg showing the magnetic variations and the alterations you must make in your true course.”
“Then it’s almost a land journey for the first thousand miles?”
“On which you can watch summer guests at Mt. Desert Island, shore yachts along the Maine coast and, like as not, deers scampering over the pine tree covered rocks of New Brunswick. You could almost do it without a compass.”